Slicing
through the void that
presses sickeningly thick on all
sides of my insatiable hunger for art,
I closed the door to my studio with a con-
vincing tour de force that left no doubt about
the sincerity, the urgency with which I viewed my
need for solitude because I was embarking upon the quest
of the Philosopher's Stone, that mystical realm wherein the
True Art lies, and I could not, would not afford any distrac-
tion to deter me from that goal; although even as I turned away
to face the task ahead, queer sounds and movements in the air
assailed me, causing my body to quiver in synchopated rhythm which
only served to bolster my courage as I seized hold of the instruments
of my craft, mixing the mercurial essence of line and color with the
sulphurous trappings of collage and drawing (in order to bring about
the creation of the firstmatter) furiously adding and taking away from
the metamorphic entity that writhes in the confining crucible of my
canvas until my exhausted being can go no further; yet continuing
on through fear of failure) steadily and in temperance, to a point
where the energy of my quest reaches a peak and the first matter
reddens with the golden fire from the gleam in my eyes, thrus-
ting my hands away lest I should corrupt its pureness, blinding
me with the radiance of a thousand desires captured and bound
by the salts of my labour;and in my repulsion I realized that
I had indeed succeeded in bringing into existence the Stone
that I sought: sHnN; but quickly, before my exaltation
should wane, I wrest a portion of the quicksilver art
from its nest, wrap it in the foil of science, and
cast it into the center of the base metal of bor-
ing art) which, becoming molten beyond re-
cognition in the searing flame of the
acolyte, is easily transmuted
into gold.
